Thursday, 27 April 2017

I
wrote recently to the effect that stating anything off the Left-wing playbook
and the usual suspects would rise against you ‘like the Mongol hordes’, and the
phrase set off the unstoppable train of memory. As I once wrote, in the context of a song lyric;

Your memory is like a train.

It takes you there and back again.

And what you pay

Is what you can afford to pay.

In
the summer of 1981, a few months before I was hoping to begin my university
degree, I worked at what we then called a mental hospital. I had worked as an
auxiliary nurse there at weekends for some time, but took on a full-time job in
order to squirrel away some money for what I hoped would be my time at
university. As a matter of fact, when I took the job, I did not know whether I
had achieved the C grade in Law A-level, along with the A-grade I already had
in English, I required for university entrance. I had made a pact with myself
that, should I fail to achieve the required grade and thus miss out on higher
education, I was going to train as a psychiatric nurse. I got another A-grade,
and the world of psychiatric nursing missed out on one who could have used some
of it himself in the intervening years.

The
hospital job was really my first taste of multiculturalism. I worked with
nurses from Pakistan, Bangladesh, Trinidad, Nigeria, Malaysia. I played for the
hospital cricket team, one of two white people to do so at the time, along with
the Kiwi wicket-keeper.

I
was assigned to two wards that summer. The first was a ward specialising in
real problem kids. I’m not virtue-signalling here, but I can’t write about that
part of my life. I spent a little time in the staff toilet crying, once a day
or so. I also once punched someone in the face – at a railway station, not at
work - for calling someone else a ‘loony’. Funny how ‘loony’ is acceptable
while ‘nigger’ is not. I know who I would rather spend time with. But I
digress.

I
worked with many people who had Down Syndrome. I shouldn’t really say this, but
they were my favourites among the afflicted. Kind, affectionate, very tactile
and just fun to be with, Down Syndrome people are a joy to be around. Again, I
am not trying to impart to you what a great guy I am. As many, many girlfriends
will attest to, I can be, and often am, what my late father would have called a
proper cunt.

But
Down people had a nickname among the staff, particularly the black and brown
ones. Anyone of my generation will be familiar with it. They were called
‘Mongols’.

The
appellation, apparently, comes from the vague resemblance between Down people
and Mongolians. I don’t quite see it myself, but perhaps I am a racist or
something. Anyway, one of the Paki nurses – who was actually very good at his
job, as Paki nurses often were – used to have a little ritual he found funny. I
didn’t, and would have cheerfully broken his nose when he did it, but perhaps
we will put that down to cultural difference.

He
would gather the dozen or so Down boys on the ward – it was a boys’ ward –
around him, and begin clapping his hands and bouncing on the balls of his feet
like a basketball player preparing a free shot. Except that he was a fat little
fuck, which is where the image breaks down somewhat. He would then start his
little chant.

All the Mongols are HAPPY!

All the Mongols are HAPPY!

All the Mongols are HAPPY!

All the Mongols are HAPPY!

It
would go on for quite a long time. Most of the Down guys would eventually ape
this Paki spastic, jumping around, unaware of the concept of humiliation, and
the nasty, childish sense of humour sub-continental Asians often have, and how
they delight in cruelty. I, personally, have never had a Pakistani friend. This
is not an accident of demographics. I just don’t like Pakistani people. One of
the Down boys, David, would sit in the corner in a sullen sulk. He once told me
how much he hated this little mantra. Off I went to the toilet, to cry again.

My
point is this. Thinking back to the bouncing, mimicking, happy Down Syndrome
kids is eerily reminiscent of what Leftists will be doing when the French elect
Macron as their president. They will not know what they are doing, they will
simply be copying everyone else, and the nurse in the white coat.

Now,
when I say ‘Leftists’, I am sure, if you are here in the first place, that you
know who I mean. I don’t mean your old Labour-voting Dad. You know full well
who I mean. The Pansy Left. The post-modernes. The morons with perfect teeth.

Leftists
will be so mindlessly overjoyed that Le Pen has lost, they will make those
wonderful Down people seem like The Vienna Circle. But there will be one
important difference between the two groups.

Leftists
are cunts. It’s as simple as that. I despise the Left. Rather than allow a
nationalist, patriotic woman who clearly cares about her country to run France,
they would rather a creature of the Jewish – and let’s face it, they are -
world-order-mongers allow that country’s ruination. Macron is bank-rolled by
some of the worst people on this fucking planet, an anarcho-tyrannist who
states that terrorism is something that France will just have to live with –
echoing what mendacious taqiyya-artist Sadiq Khan has glibly claimed about
London – and who wishes another 200,000 immigrants a year to enter La belle France.

And
France will fall. If you have seen what is happening in Paris, you will know
that the collapse has already begun. Macron, with his snake-oily smile and
Sacha Distel looks, will be happy to carry it on for the elites.

My
only sense of shame here comes from using a group of charming, delightful
people as a metaphor for people who neither have charm nor delight anyone but
themselves and their little friends with the wasp-like faces and snub noses. I
believe we must advise Leftists in the same manner Bill Hicks used to suggest
to anyone in his audience who worked in advertising; Please kill yourselves.

Wednesday, 26 April 2017

We
have been meaning to write to you for some time. There are important things you
should know. Your world is changing quickly, too quickly perhaps for you, but
at a pace that we decide and you must follow. All your technology, all the toys
you make, all your new cars and houses and televisions with their mindless
rubbish, all these things cannot stop the change we are enforcing on you. You
have all the watches, but we have all the time.

This
should really be a thank-you letter. None of us realised how much you would
help us destroy you. You must genuinely despise yourselves, your empty culture,
your godlessness, your obsession with trivia and shallowness. It is as though
we had set out to burgle your house, equipped with the tools for breaking and
entering, dressed in black, in the dead of night, only to find you awake and
welcoming us at the open door. We are asked in with smiles and embraces. Inside,
we are treated to an excellent meal and fine wine, before being ushered
upstairs to dally to our heart’s desire with your daughters. And your sons, inshallah.

But,
although we are bringing much, thanks is not among our bounty. The first thing
we are bringing to you, O kufr, is
wisdom. The wisdom that states that freedom is your downfall, what your Greek
infidels called hubris. The second
thing we bring is the submission you need to fill the vacuum your freedom has
created. Look at yourselves. Look at your science and your art. Look at your
music and your poetry. Look at your philosophy and your history. And now your
thumbs ache from computer games, your eyes are misted from watching television,
you are indebted from filling your miserable house with things you neither
require nor receive pleasure from. Freedom.

The
opposite to freedom is submission, which you will soon taste and savour. One of
the reasons our helpers and enablers, Allah’s assistants, if you will, are on
what you term the ‘political Left’ is that those people, as strange as they may
look and sound, are already on the road to enlightenment. Those on your Left
understand dimly, through a mist or fog, that freedom is a trick, and that
submission surpasses freedom as the snake surpasses the mouse. It swallows it
whole. Just as your people of the Left understand that man needs to be ruled by
a higher force, so too they understand the need for the word of Allah. And we
have much to say about Allah.

One
of your foolish Hollywood films happens to have, by chance, something
resembling a clever thought, almost certainly stolen from the dar al Islam, like so much stolen by the
crusaders, who will soon be vanquished. The
greatest trick the devil ever played was convincing the world that he didn’t
exist. It has charm. But we have gone one better.

You
have shown such respect to Allah it makes us blush. And the greatest of your
belief is that you think we believe he exists. Do you think we are stupid
enough to follow in your footsteps, and to believe that some vast being
controls our destiny? There are goatherds in Kashmir who believe in Allah, yes.
They herd goats. They spit and defecate into the wind. We merely believe in
power. Your problem is the guilt and shame of doing away with your own god has
left you vulnerable to those who claim they have not. There is no Allah. But
our greatest trick is to make you believe that we believe that there is.

And
so, you see, we are doing nothing more than punishing you for your stupidity.
It would be the same were this a chess match which, in a sense, it is. But it
is one you cannot win, for, in a way, your Queen and Rooks are the same colour
as ours. There is an old Arabic proverb; Better
a thousand enemies outside the house than one within. And we have many
within, both the blessed and the kufr.

And
so, shariah will come, inshallah. Curiously,
we are conservative where your ‘conservative’ political parties are not. We
wish to go back, to a time of purity and law. You wish to go forward into chaos
and nihilism, a place fitting for the dar
al harb.

And
so we write to announce our coming so that you may prepare, and we find, to our
pleasure, that preparations have already begun, like the laying of a table
before a wedding feast. You criminalise those that speak against Islam. You
change your customs at our every whim. Your women, in the cities where we are
strongest, do not go out alone at night, in accordance with shariah. Your
politicians mistranslate ‘Islam’ as ‘peace’ when they know perfectly well what
it means. Your children visit our places of worship, and must do so. The
wedding feast is prepared.

Mohammed,
peace be upon him, is the most popular baby boy’s name in many of your cities.
The call to prayer drowns out the chimpanzee music you used to listen to. Some
of your people try to write against us, but space is made in the prisons. Your
young girls become our playthings, and your police look away. Soon, we will be
the police.

Your
elites, the patched and motley buffoons you elect with your democratic right to
vote, believe they can use Islam and control it at a time of their choosing. If
they believe they can ride the tiger of Islam, they know nothing. Either of
Islam or of tigers. You yourselves need not fear us. Most of you will live and
be safe. We will have need of you in service.

And
so, we will leave you with this thought; When Islam and shariah are triumphant,
and the crescent eclipses the cross, it will be because of your freedom. Of
what use, then, was that freedom?

Tuesday, 25 April 2017

Isn’t
it strange? We live, not in a world but in a hemisphere, in which you can
choose your gender. Even if you have the inconvenience of hosting a penis, you
can be a woman, or any one of a Heinz-like 57 varieties of gender. If you are
white, and find this an encumbrance, you can self-identify as black. Bored with
being human? Simply elect to be Otherkin. A dragon, say, or unicorn or space alien.
It seems to be Western means to be able to choose anything you like.

Except
your opinions.

If
you are the owner of a swinging dick, hair on your chest, a deep voice and an
Adam’s apple, they are mere ephemera. If you have all these things and wish to
be a woman, so be it. But if you express your opinion that such a person is
delusional, or a fraud, or an attention-seeker, or flying in the face of
biological fact, beware. Ask not for whom the Kommissar knocks. He knocks for
thee.

If
you face the irksome but irreconcilable fact that your parents are white, but
you wish to be black, we can arrange that without a salesman visiting your
home! Simply frizz your hair, or grow a little jazz beard, buy some tanning
agent, adopt the infantile pabulum that passes for black speech, and hey,
homes! You be like wack!

But
hop on to social media and state that you think Shaun King and Rachel Dolazeal
are fraudulent or deeply disturbed individuals, and the biens pensant will rise against you like the Mongol hordes.

And,
as the English used to say, mind your Ps and Qs. Homosexuals are permitted to
call themselves ‘queers’ and, indeed, will let no opportunity to do so go to
waste. I would strongly recommend, however, that if you are straight, white and
male, you do not try this at home, on your computer. That way lies the Big
House.

Women
are another protected species. They are, of course, the equal of men, until one
gets punched in the face at a rally, in which case the male puncher becomes a violent
patriarch picking on a poor, defenceless woman. Incidentally, while we are on
the subject, the woman to whom I refer is a soft-porn actress called
‘Moldylocks’, who specializes in hirsute porn, meaning that she does not shave
her vagina, but does have it repeatedly photographed. She also has an online
post stating before the rally that she intended to claim ‘100 Nazi scalps’. O
brave new world, that has such people in it!

Of
course, the gold-medal-winning, top-of-the-class, champeen of halting your
freedom of speech is Islam, a powerful brand enjoying encouraging sales spikes
and fully endorsed by the leaders of Western governments. A man was recently
given a year in jail in the UK. His crime? And, before you answer, remember
that you have to try quite hard to get prison time in Britain for, say,
burglary. He wrapped bacon around the door handle of a mosque. Kevin Crahan
died in jail, six months into his sentence. There has never been an explanation
given, certainly not one reported in the MSM, or anywhere else. And I have looked.

A
member of the political party Liberty GB, Tim Burton, faces a long and costly
court case for referring online to a Muslim as a ‘mendacious,
grievance-mongering taqiyya artist’. I, for one, applaud both the construction
of the phrase and its accuracy, but the law may take a dimmer view. ‘Lawfare’
is, of course, one of the many ways in which Islam – and the elites – protects
its brand. And, even if their opponents have money, which I do not imagine they
do, it is a lot easier to fight a court case in your own, leisurely time when
your sugar daddy is called Saudi Arabia.

To
paraphrase P G Wodehouse, here is the news, and here is Markie reading it. If
you are not a recognised member of a designated victim group, you are far from
free. Your speech is curtailed, both at work and in your private life.
Curiously, it is also policed in your social life. Facebook, for example, used
to be a lot of fun, and a great way to stay in touch with family and friends,
particularly when you have relocated to Central America. And then it changed.

As
Corinthians reminds us, there comes a time to put aside childish things, and I
find Facebook may soon be included in that inventory. There are two main
reasons. The first is Mark Zuckerberg, a disgrace to Marks everywhere. He is a
very nasty little man and an enemy of free speech. Perhaps the clue is in the
name. The surname, I mean. The family name. It is after all, a big, powerful
family.

The
second is my disappointment with so many people I used to know, like and
admire. The rule now seems to be this; as well as being a light-hearted social
market-place, Facebook is also a political forum, provided that your comments are orthodox Left-wing. Anything
vaguely to the Right, politically speaking, and the finger-wagging and sour
faces begin. I have ditched a lot of people I have known for years. I have no
wish to speak to them again. As you see, I have quoted from Shakespeare’s The Tempest, and the title of this piece
is a mangling of the same speech, given by one of Shakespeare’s most charming
female characters, Miranda. A few lines later, her father Prospero makes a
remark which sums up my attitude towards the friends I have discarded due to
their political prudery.

Let us not burden our remembrances with

A heaviness that’s gone.

It
never bothers me. As the young people say, I don’t really ‘do’ friendship.
People either interest me or they don’t.

But
this is no brave new world. The West is a craven henhouse with a rampant fox
already inside. It is a strange situation in which the farmer is allowed to
notice the presence of the fox and the danger posed to his chickens, but not
permitted to fetch, or even mention, his gun.

Sunday, 23 April 2017

I
have lost count of the number of times I have read that one or other European
nation is considering banning the burka. Now, the burka itself seems to be the
full-piece body-bag that Muslim men insist their many wives wear, with a lit
for the eyes like some psychotic London post-box, and which feminists claim
empowers those same women. It also, of course, serves to cover up the result of
a good smack in the mouth, but that is a subject for another fine day.

Takuan
Seiyo, that rogue essayist from whom we hear all too little in these
treacherous times, reminds us that there are several versions of the Islamic
veil. We should refuse, he says, to learn the names of any of them.

There
is, of course, nothing in the Koran concerning veiling women. This is a pure
by-product of Wahhabism, the ever-moveable feast known as the Hadith, the wily old men who manipulate
post-Mohammedan Islam, and a gullible and conniving West.

But
never let a government ban anything.
There be dragons. This is one of my bones of contention with Geert Wilders, who
wishes to ban the Koran. Do you
defeat an enemy by banning its texts? You do not. I refer you to the triumph of
Christianity over the mighty Roman Empire. Make of a text samizdat, and you merely amplify its effects.

As
for the burka, this is the reddest of herrings. As with all the false-flag
operations the Western elites mount against an increasingly savvy public, it is
not in any way aimed at Islam. Once
burkas are banned, crucifixes will follow in short order.

UKIP,
that failing one-man show turned three-ring circus, are the latest to follow
this tired trope. Bizarrely, they state that they wish to ban both the burka and shariah law. Paul Nuttall may not be
the best pilot of the UKIP ship if his knowledge of the legal constitution of
the UK is so feeble. Shariah law already is banned in the UK by virtue of the
fact that Britain already has a legal system, thank you very much.

France,
Belgium and Bulgaria have already banned the burka, which of course puts them
far more at risk from enraged Muslims than countries which have not. Mohammedans
have enough imagined slights to deal with without giving them actual ones to
rage about. Muslim women will, of course, be commanded by their menfolk to wear
this wretched garment in these countries. The police will be deployed and
either made to look like the impotent fools they are or become embroiled in
tense stand-offs. Either way, Islam will cost all these countries more than it
already does in police time. You will have noted that Islam, whatever else you
wish to say about it, does not come cheap.

There
is an amusing tale told in my little part of Costa Rica. A Muslim couple
holidayed here some years ago. The woman wore the full burka, despite it
regularly being over 90˚ here. A couple of years later, another couple arrived
with the woman similarly attired. A local shop-keeper remarked that it was nice
that people liked the place enough to return. It was a different Muslima, of course, but the shopkeeper
assumed it was the same woman, the one with the kooky fashion sense.

I
do not wish to see the burka banned. As noted, I feel uneasy when governments
start banning things that don’t kill people. However, everyone has heard the
ridiculous stories of Muslim women refusing to show their faces in court, and
even one who refused to do so for a passport check at the airport. What should
happen in these cases is immediate imprisonment for contempt of court until
such time as the woman decides to show her undoubtedly pleasant features, and
detention in a small airless office for the airport Muslima pending same. And
the most important imperative of these tiresome transactions is that the court
staff and passport controllers show no respect either to Islam or to the woman
herself. The message will be clear. If you wish to dress this way, fine. But if
your choice obstructs us in the course of our professional duty, we will make
things as difficult as you like.

One
of the most pathetic aspects of creeping Islamisation in the UK is the respect
paid to it. Policemen taking off their shoes to raid mosques. No dawn raids
during Ramadan. No police dogs because Muslims don’t like them. Police officers
should kick down the doors of mosques wearing their biggest shit-kicking boots,
and make pre-dawn raids during Ramadan, accompanied by their toughest crew of
German Shepherds and, if possible, all munching on bacon sandwiches. The slogan
when dealing with Islam should be; No respect? Then, no respect.

The
burka also serves a purpose in the wider cultural war currently being waged.
When feminists decry that the burka is empowering to women, and turn it into
some symbolic beatitude, they make themselves increasingly ridiculous in the
eyes of ordinary people, which means their power wanes further.

Most
importantly, though, when I see women in burkas, it reminds me of one over-arching
concept. Western civilization, with all its decadence and decline, all its
trash and trauma, all its atomisation and animosity, is still vastly superior
to this peasant culture. Of course, when one strolls the boulevards of south
London and sees tattooed, fat, white sluts with facial piercings, one sometimes
sorely wishes for compulsory burkas all round, but freedom, if it means
anything at all, means freedom to look like a slattern.

So,
keep the burka. Just stop letting people into your countries who may wish to
wear them. Or, rather, people whose menfolk order them to wear them. It is an
ugly garment entirely appropriate for an ugly ideology. I would rather not have
seen the face of a Muslima I once opened a supermarket door for. She would have
struggled to do it herself, what with a baby buggy and shopping but, as she
passed me by in my temporary capacity as multicultural bell-boy, she gave me
such a glare of naked contempt anyone would have assumed I had spat in her
face. Keep the burka. It reminds me of what I like, and what I dislike.

Saturday, 22 April 2017

The
first round of the French elections has already begun, as the old French
colonies cast their vote in the most vital Gallic ballot in my lifetime. The
British General Election is a bagatelle by comparison. In the UK, the choice is
between one set of Socialists led by an ex-IRA supporter and another led by a
posh girl. There will be no change in the management of decline except, as
reported in a previous postcard, the rate of that decline will increase under
Labour, an outcome greatly to be desired. Apart from the attendant media bunting of one colour or another, it will be, meet the new boss, same as the old boss.

In
France, however, Marine Le Pen addresses something no other leading politician
in Europe would dare to touch; Muslim immigration. She may campaign against
‘radical Islamism’, but it is clear that she wants to rid France of Islam in toto. She may be France’s, and Western Europe's, last chance
to do so.

As
with Brexit and Trump, the full force of the French deep state will be in
collusion with the media to stop her. Islamic immigration is possibly the most
vital component in the destabilizing of Europe so earnestly sought by its elites
and the sinister éminences grises that
lurk behind them. No upstart nationalist must be allowed to stop it.

What
Le Pen’s economic strategies will be I have no idea, and the media could not
care less. They will focus on racism and xenophobia, the twin evils of the
modern world but evils which must be amplified and applied, if only
temporarily, if the greatest threat to what remains of Western civilization is
to be defeated as it was at the gates of Vienna.

Then,
of course, in 1683, Islam came with the sword. Now it arrives with a smartphone
and new training shoes, and this is a clue to the problem posed by modern
Islam. The problem is not Islam in and of itself. Islam is actually the most
ultra-conservative political ideology currently in existence. It is when
Muslims are shown the Ali Baba’s cave of the West, with its trinkets and
freedoms, its internet and blonde girls not wearing very much, that the trouble
begins.

I
used to spend a lot of time in France. In fact, under the curious convolutions
of Napoleonic land law, I own one eighth of a house in northern Provençe, the
house of my late father. It is the most beautiful area. There is, or was,
little crime. On an early visit, my father spent some time conversing with an
old man who could not have looked more French if he had been sent by central
casting. When I asked my father about him, he told me that the man was a cousin
of Pagnol, the famous French author who wrote, among other novels, Manon des Sources.

My
father and I would visit Nyons market, with its billowing fragrances and street
jazz. While I was stocking up on French soap – incomparable – we would see
Muslims, the pieds nuds or sans papiers. But there was no
antagonism, or none that I saw. Is it any wonder that the locals would like to
keep it that way, particularly if they have seen the dissident videos of the
anarchy in Paris, the videos the MSM won’t show you? The southern French are
proud and haughty, sometimes to the point of arrogance, and they wish to make
sure that that part of the country remains their country.

It
is also Le Pen country and, when I say that, it is country that voted for her
father, the rather more dubious Jean Marie. This election will be much like
Brexit and the USA in that it will be between rural France and the
metropolitans. Above my father’s property is a house owned by a Parisian. When
my father - un rosbif - first moved there, because he was married to a local French woman,
heavy snow was removed from the drive of his house by the local
snow-plough on instruction from the mayor. They have never extended this
courtesy to the gentleman from Paris. There is a saying in the south; Seuls les Parisiens aiment les Parisiens. Only
Parisians like Parisians. The relationship between the south of France and the
north – particularly Paris – mirrors the traditional antagonism in the UK,
although with the poles reversed.

So
the election will pit rural Frenchmen and women against their Liberal
antagonists. So far, so divisive. This is happening across the West. It is
already leading to violence in the USA, and will soon do so in the UK. In
France, however, there is another element. At 7.5%, the Muslim population is
the highest of any European country. Here, more than anywhere else, the Left
has imported its very own demographic voting bloc. This is an important part of
the long game Islam is playing, one for which – as I have written before – they
are metaphysically prepared while the godless West is not.

The
Islamic invasion of Europe is actually two-pronged, and terrorism is a minor
feature. I say this not to demean the victims of terrorist attacks, but to lay
out the sketch of a strategy so far proving successful. Firstly, as Mark Steyn
long ago pointed out, Islam is out-breeding its host body in Europe. In this
sense, Muslims are not trying to screw us, they are trying – and succeeding –
to out-screw us. Birth rates among the European countries are notoriously below
the replacement rate of 2.1 per couple. Add Islam into the mix, however, and
things look rosier - if you are simply a fan of numbers. Or a Muslim. Or a Left-wing oikophobe.

Secondly,
the de facto invasion. Migrant
numbers are not going to lessen, and any politician who tells you they are is
lying to you. Of course, the elites and their media catamites greatly desire
this, and brand any objection to it as ‘populism’. Look at the infantile and
fanatical reaction to Trump’s ascendancy. Sweden and Germany have both actively
encouraged miscegenation between Muslim immigrants and indigenous women.
Actually, I wouldn’t blame the ladies if they did dump Sven or Jurgen for Achmed or Mohammed. Which would you prefer sex with, a virile
Muslim or a Queer Studies graduate in a pink pussy hat?

I
don’t think Le Pen will win. I don’t think she can win. But then I said that
about Brexit and Trump, and was gloriously wrong. I have some horse-racing
tips, if you’re interested. But this I do believe. If she loses out this time
around, what will happen to France in the interim between now and the next
presidential election will guarantee her a future landslide. Vive La France!

Friday, 21 April 2017

One
of the most curious trends running through the comments sections of social
media is the apparent belief that the Western political elites are somehow
stupid. The internet has, of course, given the illusion of expertise to many
who do not have that precious commodity. Wikipedia seems to make a journalist
of anyone. But how many comments have you read, following a good or bad piece
on one of the many dissident, Right or Alt. Right sites that now exist, that
start along these lines?

When will the government realise…

How can politicians be so stupid…

When will leaders wake up…

If
you are one such commenter, I have news for you. Governments realise.
Politicians are not stupid. Our leaders are awake. It is you who sleep.

Western
governments employ dozens, even hundreds, of men and women whose job it is to
lie to you. In the UK, they are called by various specious names: ‘Spin
doctors’, ‘policy advisers’, ‘wonks’, ‘special advisers’ or ‘SpAds’. But they
are liars, and we should call things as they are. Their job, and it is a job
you are paying for, is to make things which are bad for you appear to be good
for you.

One
thing they are not is stupid. They have sold you myths and lies and falsehoods.
They have sold you the myth that multiculturalism is good for your country.
They have sold you the lie that Islam is a religion of peace. They have sold
you the falsehood that immigration is necessary to save your country’s economy.
And you, or people you know and live with and work with, bought it.

The
immigration into Europe of tens of thousands of Muslim men is not an act of
humanitarianism. It is not compassionate. It is not an economic necessity, and
it has nothing to do with some ideal of the family of man, a phrase which is
probably now illegal under linguistic gender guidelines. The importation of
these men, whose religion is exactly opposed to the ideals on which Western
civilization was built, is the first act in a globalist program. This program
is ultimately concerned with control, and the initial means of imposing this
control is called anarcho-tyranny.

The
phrase originates with American columnist and palaeoconservative Samuel T.
Francis. Francis held unorthodox views on race, immigration and miscenegation
which, of course, made him a racist and a reactionary to the Liberal-Left. He
was a prolific writer, but the paragraph which most concerns us is here;

‘What we have in this country today, then, is both anarchy
(the failure of the state to enforce the laws) and, at the same time, tyranny –
the enforcement of laws by the state for oppressive purposes; the criminalisation
of the law-abiding and innocent through exorbitant taxation, bureaucratic
regulation, the invasion of privacy, and the engineering of social
institutions, such as the family and local schools; the imposition of thought
control through "sensitivity training" and multiculturalist
curricula, "hate crime" laws, gun-control laws that punish or disarm
otherwise law-abiding citizens but have no impact on violent criminals who get
guns illegally, and a vast labyrinth of other measures. In a word,
anarcho-tyranny.’

Anarcho-tyranny does not explain everything taking place in the West, but
it is an excellent starting-point, and the paragraph quoted above will ring
true to anyone who has followed events in Europe. Events, that is, which tend
not to be covered in the mainstream media.

We see this at work today across Europe. Rape a woman in Sweden as an
immigrant, and the legal administration will contort itself to keep you from
prison or deportation. Post a Tweet questioning the benefits of immigration,
and you may be investigated by the police. A man can sexually molest a woman,
or any number of women, and his culture will operate as a Get Out of Jail Free
card. Leave a bacon sandwich outside a mosque, and you may die in jail.

Surveillance is a key element of anarcho-tyranny, but it is not those you
might expect who are the target of surveillance. And the usual suspects in the
media rush to defend it. Thus, after the Westminster Bridge atrocity, we read
Max Hastings in The Daily Mail informing
us that having our telephones tapped is good for us because it is a necessary
part of anti-terrorist intelligence work. But you can’t stop a terrorist who is
not stupid enough to broadcast his intentions over the phone. Meanwhile, yours
is still being tapped. And you would be well advised to mind what you say
concerning the likely religion of such a terrorist.

The political facilitator of anarcho-tyranny, its first cause, is the
importation of dysfunction. Islam fits the bill perfectly here. Importing tens
of thousands of Buddhists or Seventh-Day Adventists just would not have the
desired effect. What the elites needed was tens of thousands of angry,
testosterone-fuelled young men, greedy for Western freedoms and easily riled
when these do not measure up to what they have told to expect. In a sense, and
I use the phrase knowing its relevance to UK Islam, Europe has been grooming
Islam for years for its current role.

The next phase of the long game the elites are playing, using us as pawns,
is to use the imported dysfunction to goad the indigenous populace. This is so
obviously in operation it scarcely needs pointing out. In almost every conflict
of interests in the UK, for example, in which the demands of Muslims come up
against the customs and preferences of British people, it is Muslims who gain
concessions. This has nothing to do with making our new guests feel at home, or
even helping them to assimilate, and everything to do with pushing a section of
British society to a point of intolerance. And then the state will pounce.

Anarcho-tyranny is here to stay. This is a war, and you would do well to
recognise the enemy combatants. Its shock troops are the police and the
increasingly violent Antifa, two sides of the same coin. Its foot-soldiers are
the Somalians lurking in your local shopping centre. Its commanders are the
British version of the American deep state. And its target, gentle reader, is
you.

Thursday, 20 April 2017

So,
Continuity Cameron – aka Theresa May - has ordered a snap election, and we
would do well to separate the various imminent lies from one another, for there
will be precious little in the way of truth in the coming weeks. If you believe
politicians are public servants working honestly for their people, the people
who pay their generous wages and expenses, you ought not to be allowed to use
scissors.

The
main lie, of course, will be that May and her so-called Conservative Party wish
to implement Brexit with a mandate. She, and they, of course wish no such
thing. I imagine May was as horrified as Cameron and his fag Osborne when the
democratic will of the people was somehow allowed to have its way. The whole
point of neo-Socialism – and the ‘Tory’ party are neo-Socialists – is to remove
power from the little people, not to listen to their wishes. As for Brexit,
there are too many of the political class in the UK relying on the EU for their
pension pot. Why else would as empty a man as Nick Clegg argue so powerfully
for it? He is scarcely going to write a book in his dotage. It will not provide
him with either the adulation or the income he so desperately requires, quite
apart from the fact that no sentient person would buy it.

But,
as for this election, May and her entourage of PR people, image-makers,
focus-group gurus, wonks, SpAds and other taxpayer-funded liars will be fully
expected to win, and this will spell disaster. Curiously, and paradoxically, it
requires an even bigger disaster to save the UK, which is why I will be praying
for an unlikely win for Corbyn and his raggle-taggle army of identitarian
idiots.

Now,
be in absolutely no doubt as to the potential differences between a
‘Conservative’ government and a Labour one after June 9. These differences are
wholly a question of degree. With either party in power, these will be the
results:

·Increasing
taxes.

·Increasing
public sector spending.

·Increasing
foreign aid.

·Increasing
immigration, almost all of it Muslim.

·Increasing
national debt.

·Increasing
structural deficit.

·Increasing
obstruction to Britain’s decision to leave the EU.

·Increasing
surveillance of ordinary people.

·Increasing
antagonism towards Trump’s presidency.

·Increasing
politicisation of the police via which less police time is spent investigating
and prosecuting actual crime, and concomitantly more time on investigation of so-called
‘hate crimes’ on social media and other examples of state-imposed Wrongthink.

·Increasing
weakening of educational standards.

In
short, it will be business as usual whoever wins, but with one important
difference. The difference has to with what has notoriously been termed
‘managing decline’.

I
believe Corbyn is secretly thrilled with Continuity Cameron’s decision. If ever
there was a poisoned chalice disguised as a General Election, this is it. The
UK may look like a wonderful, new, shiny toy, with a chest-puffing economy and
stocks and shares booming – another set of instituted falsehoods – and a bright
fiscal future. It is not. If ever a can were kicked down the road and made to
look as though it were a game of Association Football, the UK is it.

The
only solution is for Labour to gain power. The UK needs to collapse in order to
continue. As the American general said in Vietnam; sometimes it is necessary to
destroy a village in order to save it.

Financial
collapse is waiting in the wings and is to be hastened as much as possible.
Only when the UK is officially broke will it see what it can and cannot afford.
What it cannot afford includes: Scotland, the NHS, welfare, foreign aid, a
public sector at the current rate, government at the current size, and Islam.

Social
collapse will lead to the retrieval of local power by local people. The
increasing ghettoization of inner cities will lead to inter-ethnic conflict,
particularly between Muslims and blacks, which will enable whites to achieve a
localised version of secession.

A
Corbyn government could not fail to bring about financial ruin. This is just
the time for hyper-Keynesian economics in order to bring about the end. Most
importantly, Diane Abbott would become Home Secretary. This would, incidentally,
enrage the Muslims Corbyn has tried to placate by allowing his party to
maintain a simmering level of anti-Semitism. It is a truth seldom spoken that
blacks and Muslims do not like one another. Blacks resent the fact that they
had the victim-status game all sewn up until Islam came along. Now they whine
about how multiculturalism has failed, mainly because the free stuff is drying
up at the well-spring. Home Secretary Abbott – just savour that phrase - would
also be in charge of the police, which would mean a total end to the policing
of blacks, which in turn would lead to anarchy.

Abbott
is a rather dim-witted racist who is a spectacular argument against the de facto positive affirmation which
functions throughout British politics, academia and the public sector in
general. For her, everything reduces to race. The fact that her ideological
allies believe race to be a social construct does not matter, as it never does
to black people when the argument, specious as it is, does not accrue extra
benefits for them. She has stated publicly that the problem with immigration is
not immigrants but white people.

But
she is just one of many positives for the hasty down-tumbling Great Britain so
urgently requires. Once, as Guillaume Faye writes, we wake up and all the magic
has gone, then history will begin in earnest. Whether or not the country can
hoist itself up by its bootstraps remains to be seen, but it cannot go on the
way it is now.

Every
phoenix needs its ashes from which to rise, and ashes is what a Labour victory
would surely provide. So; vote early, vote often, and vote Corbyn.

Thursday, 13 April 2017

Readers are tired of Marvel Comics aka Diversity
Comics, sales prove. From Muslim superheroes, to male superheroes turned
female, white superheroes turned black, straight superheroes turned gay etc.
And retailers are relaying their complaints to Marvel from readers, but a
Marvel exec thinks readers are just ‘turning their noses up at it’. No. Readers
want stories, good stories, great stories, entertaining stories, they don’t
want their favourite characters turned inside out in order to make Leftists at
Marvel signal to the world that they’re not racist, sexist, homophobic,
Islamophobic etc.

Bosch Fawstin, cartoonist and
apostate from Islam

It is
one of my favourite memories of childhood. On Saturday morning, I would get up very
early, often in darkness, and ride my bike round to Frank’s papershop. There. I
would fill a heavy canvas sack with newspapers and race off to complete my
round. Paper rounds paid surprisingly good money then. The ticket for my first
gig - £2.50 to see Led Zeppelin at Earl’s Court – was funded by delivering
newspapers. By the time I got home, my mate who covered the round with my road
in it had delivered Dad’s and Mum’s papers, and two extra items, for me.

Marvel Comics Weekly and Spider Man
Comics Weekly were black-and-white re-runs of colour Marvel originals. I
would have a quick bowl of cereal and the first of the day’s endless cups of
sweet instant coffee, and go back to bed for a damned good read. There I am, a
little boy in bed, utterly absorbed in the latest adventures and tight corners
and fights involving his fictional cartoon heroes.

The
Hulk. Daredevil. Thor. The Avengers. The X-Men. Spiderman. Iron Man. All film
franchises now, of course, but then the most absorbing read for a young boy yet
to embark on his science-fiction guzzling career. The storylines had a moral
core, such as Peter Parker’s guilt at having to make his sweet little Aunt May
doubt her sanity rather than be petrified at learning his identity. I would say
that comic books prepared a boy for manhood at least in an advisory capacity.

Not
any more. As the opening quote makes clear, Marvel Comics is now just another
department in the Leftist plan to make abnormality normal. The great god of
diversity demands sacrifices, and is a jealous god. White superheroes – or green,
in the case of The Incredible Hulk – are simply not acceptable anymore. Nor are
straight ones, or ones whose gender is biological rather than whimsical. I was
made dimly aware some months ago that Iron Man, the alter-ego of Tony Stark,
was now to be a young black girl. I tried to avoid reading any more about this
tiresome obsession because I knew it would only make me angry, and you wouldn't like me when I'm angry.

What
is most irritating about this prevalent trend in entertainment is the way that
the Marvel executive dismisses this in an underhand way, implying that white
people are racist, or sexist, or homophobic, or Islamophobic, simply because
they are not buying the crap his company has chosen to peddle. Some of us, of
course, are racist, sexist, homophobic – although I’m sitting that one out – and
Islamophobic, and don’t see these as being bad things, provided no violent
action comes from those attitudes. But virtue-signalling requires bad people as
the leather strop on which they whet the blade of their righteousness.

The
same thing is happening in Hollywood. After a slew of films informing white
people how bad they are, and black how good and innocent and hard-done-by they are, attention has now been turned
to giving a few black actors parts which would previously have gone to white
people, and all simply to make a few white people who work for Jews feel better
about their day. The producers of the next of the interminable Star Wars saga are openly gleeful about
the fact that there will be no white people at all in the film unless, of
course, they are villains.

Incidentally,
I always find it mildly worrying to discover that people still read comic books
and watch their offshoot movies when they are well into their thirties and even
forties. One of my main problems with the Alt. Right has to do with this. One
minute there is an erudite discussion of Evola, Heidegger or Gramsci, the next
a new Batman movie has come out, and everyone is running around like kitten
batting a ping-pong ball across a parquet floor. But I digress.

It
is immensely pleasurable to learn that Marvel, as well as Hollywood, is
suffering sales drops brought about entirely by its slavish obsession with
social engineering. The most risible aspect of gay superheroes, black James
Bonds, transgender Dr Whos and whatever other crappy little virtuous semaphores
the Leftist culture gauleiters can come up with is that they are mostly white
men with no interest in or compassion for the victim groups they are trying to
promote. If you really wanted to help blacks, policing Detroit and putting it
under white control would do immeasurably more than making 007 Nigerian.

No,
this is just another brick in the wall of cultural change enforced from above.
The hidden persuaders – to steal the title of Vance Packard’s 1957 book on
advertising – don’t really care for blacks or gays or transgender folk or any
other of their identitarian squeaky toys. What they care about is controlling
what white people – particularly haram white
men, women being halal – think and
are able to say about these ideological game reserves.

And
if white people are not buying, then they may learn the lesson the hard way,
because it is still white people who have the money.

Wednesday, 12 April 2017

Xhe
is on Xer way to the march. That was still one of the most difficult things to
master. Damn! Not master. To ‘get
right’. That would do. It was gender neutral. The inner voice in her head still
let her down sometimes. He. She. It just went to show how powerful the patriarchy
was. The essay she was working on would help the world a little, she hoped. Opening a Trans-Queerspace: Deconstructing
the Patriarchal Mindset. She was very proud of the title, although she hadn’t
had time to get much further.

Activism
took up so much time. But her Critical Studies tutors seemed to understand, and
didn’t make too many demands for finished work. They recognised that activism was work and they better had. She was
paying for her education in the form of a loan, and if you pay for something
you jolly well get the thing you want, right? Like if you buy an expensive phone,
as she rather guiltily just had, you got exactly the one you wanted, right? You
didn’t get the one the shop assistant decided you must have. You got to choose,
even if your parents actually paid for it. The thought of her parents made her
uneasy and she pushed it away. Choice.

If
she was paying for education, then you also got to choose what happened on
campus at your uni. If you chose not to allow a pro-Israeli speaker, and helped
everyone else shout her down, choice. If you wanted a safe space, choice. If
you wanted to close a freedom of speech society, choice. If you wanted to
scream at a tutor that his job was not to educate but to provide a safe mental
environment for students, choice. Not their
choice, obviously. Yours. As she walks through the chilly November air with her
placard reading SMASH THE FASH!!!, she thinks about the march.

Some
marches were more difficult than others. She shudders at the memory of an
anti-homophobia march that had been jeered and spat at by Muslim brothers and
sisters. Well, just brothers, to be fair. But her uni mentor, Ralaya, had
explained that Muslims weren’t homophobic. It was just that their culture had a
different approach to deconstructing the patriarchy. Today’s march was far more
straightforward anti-fascism. Fascists were obvious. Everyone knew who they were.
Tommy Robinson, Nigel Farage, Donald Trump, the Tories. She had only had one
problem with the last anti-fascist march. Several dozen hooded thugs, dressed
in black and red and carrying flags on poles like baseball bats, had spoiled
things, and she had assumed that they were genuine fascists, like the ones you
saw in older history books. She was told sternly by the big girl, Maya, that
these were Antifa and part of the cause. They scared her, though. She hoped
they weren’t there today.

She
had been invited to her parents’
house in Surrey for dinner, but had patiently explained to her mother that if
people like her hadn’t gone on marches in the past, Hitler would have won. Her
mother went strangely silent then, and was rather cold to her. She was embarrassed
about the size of her parents’ house, and was careful not to let any of her uni
friends know about it. She went down sometimes, even at Christmas, although she
strongly disapproved of Christmas. How did Muslims and people of colour and…
and other religions feel about seeing all those lights and laughing children?
She always wore a provocative T-shirt to her parents’, especially to family
gatherings. She always chose a slogan that would give them something to think
about. Activism never sleeps and they needed to wake up, especially at
Christmas. She had seen a Christmas market last week, surrounded by metal
barriers and tank traps, and she thought that the attacks made using lorries
and cars were a good thing. People died, yes. But fighting for freedom and
against oppression has a cost. Just ask people of colour.

She
sees two white children scurrying by with their white mother. Typical nuclear
family, no doubt. A sexist white father drinking with his friends somewhere.
She has to push away the strange feeling she gets when she sees white children.
She could never have a white child herself. What, and bring even more white
privilege into the world? All privilege is someone else’s oppression. She is
pleased at the arrival, unasked, of that simple and true thought.

She
is pleased because it gives her a chance to go through what she calls ‘the true
thoughts’, the thoughts that no one – well, no one who wasn’t a fascist – could
disagree with. She plays them out sometimes, like a game of solitaire. Diversity
is strength. The patriarchy must fall, or be deconstructed, she could never
decide which. Unity is strength. Actually, sometimes this one gave her a bit of
a problem. If unity was strength and so was diversity, then unity was
diversity. But unity meant one thing, and diversity meant lots of things. But
the light shone again when she realised that unity just was diversity! It just was. Both things were true, so both
things must equal each other. They just did. All cultures are equal. Well,
except for the patriarchy and fascism and transphobia and Islamophobia and…
Were they all cultures, or did they just all come under the fascist patriarchy?
Genderphobia was the one that confused her most of all. There were so many
genders to be phobic about now, and more seemed to arrive every day, like
ideological junk mail. And you had better know them all too, if you wanted to
keep your friends. Luckily, there were websites to help keep up.

She
is at the march now, due to meet at the usual place with her crew. She hopes
that thinking the word ‘crew’ isn’t cultural appropriation from people of
colour. The place is heavy with police, fascists themselves, although one had
helped her when the Antifa guy had pushed her to the ground. They were still
fascists. They were all men, for a start. Where were the women? Did they not
have women officers? Probably doing a desk job or making tea somewhere.

The
familiar chants begin and the march sets off. How else were you supposed to
beat fascism, if not by marching? The Tories weren’t going to be doing it any
time soon. It was going to be another great day, one among many. She feels
strangely safe with so many police officers there, even if they were all men.
But she had paid for it, right? Student loans are not cheap.

A
strange new chant goes up. They are shouting about Jews, but it is too far
ahead for her to be able to hear it properly. But this is an anti-fascist march,
right? It would be okay.

She
has another thought, one which keeps coming back to her unbidden. She pushes it
away, but it is strong and insistent. She always thinks about it as being
tempted. It just cannot be controlled like the other thoughts can. It turns
colder and begins to rain. Ahead, there is jostling and she thinks she sees
something flying through the air. The thought just won’t go away.

Tuesday, 11 April 2017

The
London funeral of PC Keith Palmer, an officer knifed to death by a psychotic
Muslim outside the UK Parliament, was on the lavish scale of a state occasion.
Hundreds, even thousands, of fellow officers lined the streets. There were
motorcycle escorts. His body was laid to rest at Southwark cathedral. It was
supposed to be a poignant spectacle to inform the little people that the
important thing is not Islamic terrorism, but love and compassion. I imagine it
cost a lot of money. The expense incurred could, however, have been spared for
the outlay of a single loaded gun, for PC Palmer was unarmed when he died.

An
interesting Tweet surfaced on Twitter from an ex-policeman yesterday. I won’t
identify the gentleman, because he may be breaking some security protocol or
other, but he claimed that PC Palmer’s detail was at one time an armed one, but
that his gun had been taken away as some
MPs found the presence of guns at Westminster to be ‘oppressive’.

Armed
policemen have been seen in the UK at cathedrals and shopping centres, airports
and sports events. This, of course, is only oppressive to the little folk, and
as a large part of the aim of contemporary government is to do just that, it
presents no problem whatsoever for the elites. Do you feel slightly scared when
you are out shopping with your young family? Then all is as is should be.

But
Westminster is different, for it brings in tourists in numbers that cathedrals
do not. Even though it would seem appropriate to have the centre of UK politics
protected by armed officers, it has been suggested that this distasteful
presence might deter the Japanese and their cameras.

As
I have written before, Twitter is not simply a finger-pointing, fake
news-riddled, spat-based frat-house. It is a democratic enabler too, a leveller
the like of which the little people have not had before and may not have for
long. I note that the prediction of its demise is viewed gleefully by the
media. They don’t really like anything which gives the pygmies a voice. As far
as MPs are concerned - and the media are simply courtiers to politicians - we are supposed to listen to them, not to talk back.

Andre
Walker is a New York journalist and UK-based lobby correspondent. I put it to
him, via Twitter, that he might be in the perfect position to verify, or
otherwise, the claim made by the ex-policeman. Mr. Walker kindly directed me to
his piece in the Observer here.

The
feature is informative in many ways, and worth your time. He also
has a piece here
on the connection between immigration and terrorism. (And I did predict that journalists would begin to
question the norms concerning Islam, but it would just take longer than the
Alt. Right and the dissident ‘net). Mr. Walker also informed me that he was ‘Trying to work
out who left Palmer unarmed and unsupported but it is not yet clear and may
never be clear.’

If MPs, or an MP, were the instigators
of the disarming of PC Palmer, then they effectively killed him. It would be
very interesting to know which MPs were involved, if any. Were any of them
Muslim, for example? Much work goes into protecting Brand Islam, and the
associations people might make if they see armed police may lead to unacceptable
dot-joining and wrongthink.

Of course, the British state also
killed PC Palmer long before his actual death. Khalid Masood, the Mohammedan
who committed the hate crime – to use the trendy vernacular appropriately for
once – had several convictions for knife felonies. Several convictions. Do you
remember that ‘three strikes’ nonsense under Blair? A knife means life? All
that? If I had several convictions for knife felonies, and found myself at
liberty, I would assume that the British judicial system was either mad or bad.
Certainly, for the career violent criminal, it is not dangerous to know.

Now, of course, security at
Parliament and other key locations has been ‘beefed up’, if militant
vegetarians have not have that phrase banned to protect their safe space. But
PC Palmer is still dead, and he always will be. And all for the great god of
tourism.

What do the elites think will happen
to tourism when every London street has barriers and tank traps, when you are
patted down airport-style at the London Eye, when there are armed soldiers
outside every café and bar, as I saw in Paris? Talking of Paris, would you want
to see the Eiffel Tower now that it has an eight-foot glass wall around it? Me
neither.

And, of course, quite apart from
violent Muslim attacks, there are other problems for tourism brought about by British
Islam. There seems to be some Muslim demonstration every week in London now,
with all the extra policing costs Islam invariably brings in its wake. And the
Islamic killer was, we are assured, one of many the authorities are trying simultaneously
both to appease and keep at bay. I had no idea there could be a pack of lone
wolves.

Guns outside the mother of all
parliaments may be ‘oppressive’, but they are not as oppressive as being dead.
PC Keith Palmer was killed by complicity, complicity between the UK political
elite, the Pansy Left with their distaste for guns, the incompetence and
acquiescence of the Metropolitan police and, of course, our old friend Islam.